Wolf's Bane
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: When a hunt goes terribly wrong, Dean is forced to face a promise made to Sam, a promise he never thought he'd have to keep. Hurt Sam, protective angsty Dean. NOT DEATH FIC


_A/N: This is a oneshot that popped pretty much fully formed into my head yesterday, I might expand it sometime, but for now it is a oneshot. And since Nov. 18__th__ is my fifth month anniversary of posting on Fanfic I thought I would celebrate with a story. Extra special thank you to beta Abni for a late night getting this ready, and to Dennis for keeping the chick-flick in line. Verse is from Eastern European Folklore quoted in 1941's "The Wolf Man."_

**Wolf's Bane**

_Even a man who is pure of heart_

_And says his prayers by night_

_Can become a wolf when the wolf's bane blooms_

_And the autumn moon shines bright_

The moon was full, pale in the bright autumn sky, the silver globe hanging translucent, a mere ghost of itself waiting until night when it could light the landscape with its gentle glow. The air was crisp, full of the scents of late fall, fallen leaves and everywhere the smell of baking pastries and rich meat wafting on the breeze. It was very nearly Thanksgiving and the country had paused to take a moment to reflect.

The trunk of the Impala was open, Dean was staring in at the collection of weapons and other items with unseeing eyes. Thanksgiving of any kind was the farthest thing from his mind. Tears were held behind his eyes, kept in check by a supreme effort of will. Sighing he rummaged around and pulled out the rope. It was good rope, strong, well stretched. His father had taught him to always keep his guns loaded, his knives sharpened and his rope stretched. A poorly stretched rope did no one any good. He grabbed the box of bullets and slid them in his pocket, then pulled them out again and dropped them back in the trunk. _No, not yet._

Dean walked slowly up the stairs of the abandoned house they were squatting in. The plants in the garden were dead and brown, the leafless bushes standing in stark relief against the yellow house. They'd found the house several days before, empty of humanity, still with furniture scattered throughout the house. Sam had done some quick research and the house served as a summer vacation home, the electricity and water still on in case the family happened to return. It was a perfect place, comfortable and even a little homely.

Once in the house he walked to the back, each step getting harder, he had to force himself on, his heart pounding in his chest. Fear was slowly taking hold, its grip icy cold. His hands were shaking. He turned into the small bedroom at the back. Dragging himself to the bed he pulled the towel down from the upper bunk and tore it into strips, then carefully wrapped the wrists on the silent, limp figure on the bed. Once satisfied that the wrists were protected he got the rope and began securing him to the bed. As gently as he could, but making sure the knots were not only tight, but designed to tighten further with a struggle. He made several passes under the steel frame of the bed, tightly binding the upper body down before securing legs and feet. He'd just finished when he heard a soft pain-filled moan. He quickly moved to the head of the bed.

"It's ok."

"Dean?" His brother struggled feebly against the ropes holding him down. "Dean, why?"

"Sam, don't fight it, please, just lie still."

"Dean, why?" Sam's eyes filled with tears.

"Sammy, I have to leave, I have to hunt and I…" He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

"But Dean," and his brother was crying. "You said, you promised, why, Dean?" He pulled against the ropes again.

"Sam…"

"Dean, you said, I can't, Dean, please," he was feverish, his eyes wild, desperate, confused, struggling against the bonds that held him unmoving against the bed.

"Let me hunt it first, let me kill it first Sam, I have to focus, and if I…I have to focus, you're ok here, trust me."

"I don't know Dean, what if…"

"No, Sam, I have to hunt first. Let me kill it, then I'll be back, once it's dead…"

"Promise, Dean?" His brother stopped struggling, his wild eyes focusing on Dean.

"Once the werewolf is dead, Sam. I promise."

"You'll kill me? Not trick me again?"

"Yeah, Sam, I promise. I'll kill you."

Sam let his eyes close again, Dean gently patted his brother's chest, got up and walked out, away from Sam, without looking back.

**Twenty-Four Hours Ago**

The moon was bright over the garden, starting its slow ascent into the sky, rising as the sun dipped on the horizon. The sky was still bright blue, the air crisp, the promise of a lovely evening in the soft wind.

Sam and Dean were following the track of the creature, hoping to track it back to wherever it rested during the day. They wanted to get to it before it turned, so they were ready to kill it before it could hurt anyone else. _Five bodies are more than enough. _

Dean sighed, watching Sam walk ahead of him. He was worried, it was the first werewolf they'd hunted since the encounter in San Francisco. Sam had been having nightmares for the last couple of days. Dean had finally cornered him and tried to get his brother to talk about it. Sam had looked at him with haunted eyes and told him, haltingly about those last moments with Madison. Kissing her as he pulled the trigger, catching the body and lowering it to the ground. The grief that was still there echoed in his words. Sam had walked quietly away, returning almost an hour later, his eyes red, but under control again.

_And now here we are tracking another one. If I'd known it was a werewolf when we heard about it I would have run in the other direction, let someone else kill it and spared Sam. Too late, next time I'll be more careful. _

"Dean?" Sam had stopped.

"What?"

"Which one?" Sam said, pointing at three run-down buildings, the remains of a farm, house, barn and another out building of some kind.

"Not sure," Dean said, looking from one to another.

"Ok, I'll take the barn you take the house, we don't have much time left before sunset." Sam said, pulling the gun out of his waistband.

"I don't like it, Sam."

"We've got maybe ten minutes at this point, Dean. You want to take the chance of this thing getting loose?" Sam snapped, he was on edge, Dean could see it in his eyes.

"Ok, but I want you out of there before the sun is down, got it?"

"Only if you promise to be out too," Sam said, smiling.

"Fine, Sammy, whatever."

Dean turned and headed towards the farmhouse. _He knew I'd never let him into the house alone. Too many places for something to hide, at least he conceded that. _There were large holes in the porch steps, Dean stepped carefully around them, testing the boards as he walked over the creaking wood. He pushed the front door open and started carefully searching the building, all senses on alert.

Reaching the hallway, living room to the left and stairs to his right, he paused, eyes closed. He thought he'd heard something move and he could smell just the faintest trace of blood. Dean turned and headed up the stairs. There were three doors in the hallway. The scent of blood was stronger here, Dean eased the first door open and turned away. _Make that nine bodies. _He closed the door again and moved silently up the hallway, gun out, listening between each step.

It came out of nowhere, slamming into him and shoving him back towards the stairs. His foot slipped and he fell, tumbling down. The man followed, growling, catching Dean as he tried to get up, tried to get his gun from where it had fallen. It hit him, hard. He was down.

His head hurt, he thought he could taste blood in his mouth. _What the hell? _Dean opened his eyes to a dark room, the faint glow of the moon the only light. He rolled over and used the wall to drag himself up. _What happened? _He looked around the dark house, memory still elusive._Where the hell is Sam? _The annoyance with his brother quickly gave way to fear. _Werewolf, we were tracking a werewolf and I think it was here, before the change. Sam was checking the…_Dean turned and ran out of the house pulling the small flashlight out of his pocket as he closed the distance to the barn.

"Sam!" No answer._Not good, come on Sam, where the hell are you? If you are following that thing by yourself I'll kill you when I catch you._ "Sam!" he yelled again as he got to the huge double doors of the barn.

He slowed, shining the small light inside, a mere pinprick in the vast dark building. The barn smelled of decaying vegetation and old manure. There was a sick sweet smell drifting over all the rest. Dean knew that scent all too well. The edge of the light caught something. _Ok, maybe more like twenty bodies. Maybe even more, not getting close enough to that pile to count. _He moved on, deeper into the cavernous dark, listening for the creature. _Would it come here? It knocked me down and out, I think it was just trying to escape so it could hunt tonight. _

A sound caused him to halt, listening. The sound came again, a groan, from the far end of the barn. Dean ran towards the sound, not caring anymore if the werewolf was there, not caring about anything except that sound. Sam. In pain.

He ran the light through each stall at the end of the barn, finally catching the hint of a light colored t-shirt. "Sam!" He ran to his brother, slamming down beside the prone figure. Reaching a shaking hand out he turned his brother over. His heart gave a final beat and broke, stopping, causing a pain in his chest unlike almost any he had ever known. Just once before, only once this pain. _No, Sam, oh god no._His brother was covered in blood, claw marks beneath the torn shirt and…he moved Sam's arm to get a better look, hoping he was wrong, knowing he wasn't. He stared in horror at the large bite in his brother's arm. _No, no, no. _

"Sam?"

His brother moaned again, then his eyes slowly opened. "Dean? You ok?"

"Yeah, Sam, I'm ok. Think you can get out of here?" He was trying to lift Sam up, trying to still the panic that had exploded in his chest, hammering against him in a desperate measure.

"Dean, I think it…You need to take care of this and leave me," Sam said, pulling away.

"I need to check you out, Sam, I think it just roughed you up a bit," Dean said, looking his brother in his eyes, hoping Sam wouldn't see the lie there.

"I thought…Ok, Dean," he let Dean pull him to his feet and help him back down the short trail to the car.

Once Sam was settled in the passenger seat Dean walked around the car, using the Impala to shield his movement as he pulled his gun out of his waistband and slip it in his pocket. He dropped into the driver's seat and turned the car on, glancing at his brother. Sam's eyes were closed, his head back on the seat.

Sam's eyes were still closed when Dean pulled up at the house twenty minutes later. "We're home, Sam," he said with false cheerfulness and went around to help his brother out. Sam's steps were heavy, uncoordinated, as Dean steered him through the house to the back bedroom his brother had been using. He helped Sam down on the bed and went in search of their first-aid kit and something to clean the wounds. There was a pile of towels in a closet in the hall, he grabbed some, went back in and sank down on the edge of the bed.

The claw marks on Sam's chest were superficial. Dean cleaned them with alcohol and then laid a clean towel over them till he finished with Sam's arm. The bite already looked infected, red angry edges surrounding the bloody wound. The wound was misshapen, looking like a tear more than a bite, except for one tiny puncture mark that had definitely been made by a tooth. _No, I was half believing that it wasn't a bite, but it is, what do I do? _He paused, sick at heart. _I know what I have to do, not yet, though, not yet._

"All done, Dean?" Sam said, Dean opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, his brother had been watching him. "How bad is it?"

"Not bad, Sam, not bad at all."

"You're lying, Dean. I saw it on your face when we were still in the barn. It got me, I'm dead."

"No, Sam, there has to be a way out," Dean said. He could hear the desperation in his voice, he knew Sam could too, "We have some time, I don't think you'll turn tonight."

"But tomorrow, Dean?"

"I have all day to figure it out."

"Nothing to figure, Dean. You need to take care of this, please don't let me hurt someone, please."

"I won't Sammy."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Dean said, his heart pounding as he said the words, knowing there was no way out, still praying there was. He sat down on the floor next to the bed, pulling out his gun and setting it beside him.

Sunrise had come, slowly, blood red on the horizon, staining the small room with tones of crimson. Dean opened his eyes. _I shouldn't have fallen asleep. _He pushed himself off the floor, automatically checking on Sam. His brother was on the bed, bright spots of color on his cheeks. Dean put his hand on Sam's forehead. _He's burning up._He checked the bite wound, it had become badly infected over the last several hours, the lips of the wound reddish purple in the morning light.

"Dean? Is it morning?"

"Yeah, Sammy, you want something to drink?"

"And an aspirin? My head is killing me," Sam said, sitting up and leaning against the head board. "I feel a little feverish."

"I think you are, that wound in your arm is infected already, I'll need to clean it again," Dean said, looking at Sam.

"It doesn't matter, Dean. Infected or not, it doesn't matter. I don't have much time left anyway."

"No, Sam, we'll figure a way out of this."

"There is no way, Dean, you know that. We tried before. There's no way."

"I can lock you in, tie you up, make sure you can't get away," Dean said, desperate.

"And the night I get free? And kill? Maybe even kill you? No, you have to fix this for me, Dean, you have to. Don't let me become a monster. At least give me the gun, ok?"

"Give me today, Sam, please."

"Dean…"

"Please, Sam, and if I can't figure something out…" _I'll do it Sam, I promise I'll do it. I know I have to, oh, god, Sam._

"Promise? Before the sun goes down?" Sam's eyes were bright, full of tears.

Dean put a hand over his brother's, "Promise, I won't let you hurt anyone, Sam. I promise I'll do what needs to be done."

"Thank you."

Dean spent the day researching, sitting with Sam. His brother's fever was getting higher, the Tylenol not really seeming to help much, the wound looking worse and worse. Sam was lying on the bed, Dean sitting beside him, as he scrolled through pages and pages of information Sam had amassed on the hard drive. _And they all say the same thing. It's incurable. No way out. How can I…? I have to hunt the thing that did this to him, I have to know it's dead before…If I have to…What will I do? You know the answer, and that's why you have to hunt it first. This is it, the end._

"It's getting late, Dean." His brother's voice pulled him from his musings. Dean looked over, Sam's face was red, his eyes glassy. The bandage covering the wound was discolored with drainage.

"I know, Sam, let me get you something to drink, ok?" he said, closing the laptop and getting off the bed.

"You think that matters? So I'm not thirsty when you put the bullet in my heart?"

"Sam…" Dean looked away, tears in his eyes.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam grabbed his hand. "Sorry."

"It's ok, Sammy."_No it's not, it's not ok at all. How am I going to do this?_"Let me get you something to drink."

"Ok, Dean, sure," Sam said, closing his eyes again.

Dean went into the kitchen and pulled a coke out of the fridge, pouring a little of it into a glass. _I hope he can't taste this stuff. _He stirred it carefully, added some more soda to the glass, carried it back to Sam and handed it to his brother.

"Thanks," Sam said, he drank it in two gulps. He burped and smiled. "Guess I was thirsty after all."

Dean sat back down on the bed, "Sorry there's no TV in here, Sammy."

"It's ok, Dean," Sam said with a sad smile. "How long till sundown?"

"Hour, maybe a little more."

"Dean…"

"We can wait a little longer, Sammy, ok? Just a little longer."

"Sure, Dean," Sam leaned against him. "I screwed up, sorry about that."

"My fault, Sam, I shouldn't have let you talk me into splitting up." Dean sighed._Oh, god, Sam. My fault, my fault. Your death on my hands, at my hands. How can I go on? Simple, I won't, hell gets me a little sooner than I planned._

"Dean?" Sam said after a few minutes of quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Yeah?" Dean looked at Sam, his brother's face was red, his eyes were glassy, unfocused. "What is it?"

"What did you do?" Sam said.

"It'll make it easier, Sammy, trust me," Dean said. _Easier for me, time to finish the hunt before I come back and end this._

"I do trust you, Dean, did you give me enough to kill me? Will that work? If you shoot me after I'm dead?" Sam was sounding more and more confused as the drug started working in his system.

"It'll work, Sam. I promised, remember? Just let it work, ok?"

Sam reached for his hand. "Yeah, Dean, thank you. I'm so sorry. I… Dean…"

"It's ok, little brother, it'll be ok."

Sam was relaxing, Dean could feel the muscles slowly releasing their tension, Sam's eyes closed. "Goodbye, Dean, thank you." Sam's head dropped against his shoulder. Dean waited another five minutes before he laid his brother on the bed.

"Not goodbye quite yet, Sam, not yet."

He walked out into the living room and carefully prepared the weapons for his hunt. When he was satisfied that he was ready, he loaded Sam's gun with silver bullets and put it down on the table. He looked at it for a minute before he picked up a pen and paper.

_Sammy, if you find this note I didn't make it back. I know you'll get out of the ropes eventually, once the drug wears off. Sorry about that. I had to hunt first, Sam. I think you know why. Your gun is loaded, silver bullets. Goodbye, Sam. _

He put the note on top of the gun and walked out of the house to get some rope out of the trunk.

**Present**

Dean drove the Impala all the way to the farmhouse this time, chancing damage to the rims to make sure he got there in time. _It's going to die. Tonight's the last night that thing gets to hunt. It will pay for Sam's life. I will make it pay before it dies._ He stopped about 50 yards out and got out of the car. He tucked his .45 into his waistband and picked up his machete. _I hope I get close enough to get a slice or two with this thing before I kill it._ He had walked several paces from the car before he realized he had forgotten something. He reached into the car and pulled a small silver knife out of the glove box. It was nothing more than a ritual blade, not good for much, but it was a gift from Sam. Dean carried it as a luck charm and token of his brother. _Not ever telling Sam about that though. He'll give me one of those damn knowing looks and smile that smile at me._

It was still, the time of night after the sun sets when everything actually seems a little brighter. There was a chill in the air, moisture, maybe indicating a snowfall before too long. _Sam loves the snow, maybe we can… No, no tomorrows for either of us, once this is done, I will go back and…_The house was silent, dark empty windows staring at him as he approached. The last sliver of sun disappeared over the edge of the horizon. _Time to play. _

He slipped onto the porch, pausing to listen. Silence echoed around him hammering in his ears. He moved on, carefully pushing the door open, every sense tuned into the hunt, aware of everything around him, even the smallest movement, the tiniest sound. The scent of something, coppery, rank, caused him to move through the living room, into what had once been the dining area. _Still is, apparently. _Three corpses, chests ripped open, were lying in one corner of the room. Dean looked closer, the rank smell was coming from singed flesh on their faces._What the hell? _

The kitchen was empty, a mouse scurrying away from him, diving under the cupboards by the door. The wind moved a shutter, it was banging gently against the house, a rhythmic beat accompanying Dean as he continued his search. Nothing on the ground floor, he walked up the stairs in a state of hyper awareness. He opened the door to the room where he had found the bodies the night before. Gagging, he went into the room to get a better look at them. A sound made him stop, holding perfectly still till he identified it. _Wind again. _He bent over a decaying corpse. _More burns, they're all burned, what the hell? _

The second room was empty, nothing in it but the broken remains of a mirror. Dean moved down the hall. He eased the door open to the last room. It wasn't empty. Something had been living there. His heart was beating hard._Some THING, not someone who is a monster occasionally. Something terrible lives here, but I don't think…It might not be…_

He headed back down the stairs and out towards the barn. The double doors were still open, the smell of death strong as he moved into the slowly darkening building. _Where is it? _He checked each stall in the barn, moving to the place where he found Sam. He stopped there and listened. The hair on the back of his neck rose. Something was behind him. He tightened the grip on the machete and turned around.

It was standing there, watching him, now that he got a good look at it he could see it wasn't quite human. Dean grinned with feral pleasure. _Time to die. _"Not a werewolf are you?" he said, knowing the answer before it spoke.

"I had you going there, didn't I?" It laughed, a harsh sound bouncing around the barn, chilling Dean's blood. "Did a good impression, didn't I? Did it work? Did you kill your brother?" It was looking at him, trying to find an answer. "Doesn't matter, the bite will kill him anyway, but it would have been more fun if you'd killed him."

"Time to die," Dean said softly. _Suffer first, then die. _

"Doubt it," it said and flung itself at him.

It knocked Dean down, the machete clattering away across the barn. Dean managed to block the punch it aimed at his head. It put its hands around his neck and started to apply pressure. Dean let his eyes close and his body relax under those hands, the instant it let its guard down he struck out, kicking at it, knocking it away from him. He forced himself up and over to where the machete had fallen. As he reached for the blade, it came at him again, landing hard on his back, driving him down again. Fingernails like claws dug at his neck. Dean got a hand in his pocket and pulled out the small silver knife. He drove the knife into its neck, high up by its chin. It screamed and released him. Dean grabbed for the machete. He stood up, watching it writhe in pain on the floor, blood spurting from its neck, clawing at its throat in pain.

Dean waited for several minutes, watching it, finally he pulled it up onto its knees. "Now it's time to die." He swung the machete, the hard blow severing head from trunk. "Not sure what you are, but bet you stay dead if I do that." He pulled his knife out of its neck, wiped it on the body and headed back to the car.

The house was quiet when he arrived. He ran in, checking that the gun and the note were still on the table. _Hasn't managed to escape yet. _When he got to the bedroom, his brother was awake, struggling against the ropes. Dean could see where, even with the protection of the towels, they had cut into Sam's wrists, leaving bloody marks.

"Sam, no relax, it's ok," he ran to the bed and put his hand down on Sam's chest. His brother was burning up.

"Dean, no, you promised, you have to kill me, please, don't let me become a monster, please, before the sun sets, Dean, please." Sam was desperate, tears in his eyes.

"Sammy, listen to me, listen, sun's down. It's been down for about three hours. He wasn't a werewolf."

Sam stopped struggling, fevered eyes focusing on Dean. "What?"

"It's true, Sam, I killed it, not a werewolf. You're going to be ok." _What did it say about the bite killing him anyway?_ Dean was cutting the ropes away as he spoke.

"Not a…Not…" Sam was breathing hard. "Then I'm not?"

"No." Dean said, pulling the last of the ropes away. He sat down on the bed, trying to smile at Sam. "Let me look at that bite." He carefully undid the bandage, trying to be gentle where it had stuck to the wound. It was red, puffy, blackening at the edges, almost like a burn. It was oozing green and black. Dean looked up at Sam, his brother was looking at the wound, the looked at Dean.

"Dean…"

"I'll fix it Sam, I have an idea, something dad told me once, a long time ago. Just wait, ok?"

"Alright, Dean, I guess I can be a little patient since I'm not going to try and eat your heart or anything."

"Not funny, Sam."

Sam smiled at him, a genuine smile in spite of the fever and what Dean suspected might be very severe pain. "It's a little funny."

Dean went out to the car and grabbed their father's journal and the supplies he thought he'd need. He read through his father's notes one more time, ignoring the _never tested, unknown cure _his father had written in bold red ink. Going into the kitchen he put a small pan of holy water onto the stove and brought it to a boil, adding salt, aconite and bloodstone and stirring it with the silver knife. When it was done he cut a small piece from a pure linen altar cloth, sewn with silver threads. He took everything back to the bedroom with him.

Sam was lying on the bed, eyes closed, panting as he tried to breathe. "I might be dying, Dean," he said as his brother entered the room.

"Not tonight, Sammy, ok?" He sat on the bed and soaked the cloth in the solution. "I don't know what this is going to do."

"It's ok, Dean. Do it."

Dean pulled the cloth out and put it, dripping wet over the wound. Nothing happened. He poured a little of the liquid from the pan over the cloth. Sam moaned a little. Dean glanced over, his brother's eyes were tightly closed, he was breathing fast. Dean heard something sizzling under the cloth. _Is that good or bad? _He poured a little more on. Sam tensed, grabbing at Dean, he closed his hand around Dean's wrist in a vise-like grip. "Sorry, Sam."

"It's ok, Dean, finish," his brother said, pain now distorting his features.

Dean poured the last of the solution over the cloth. His brother screamed, arching his back. Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and held him down. Sam was thrashing wildly, screaming, even over his brother's voice Dean could hear the wound sizzling under the cloth. Suddenly Sam went limp, dropping down onto the bed, lax, unmoving. Dean desperately felt for a pulse. He waited several seconds, not breathing, before he felt the beat, thready, weak, but there under his fingers. He let his breath out in a long sigh. _I hope he just fainted. I hope that's all it is. After everything…No, he's going to be fine. That wound is still sizzling, and now it smells funny. _He pulled the cloth off of it a little and noticed the edges of the wound were no longer quite as black and red, it was still seeping black and green, but it was looking a little better.

Dean got up and headed back to the kitchen. After carefully cleaning the pot he made another batch of the solution and cut another piece of the cloth and went back to Sam, repeating the procedure. Even unconscious his brother moaned in pain, his body reacting to the wound, to the infection or whatever it was, leaving his body. When he was done with the second batch Dean realized the sizzling had almost ceased. He lifted the cloth, the black was gone completely, the wound still seeping, but only clear fluid. Dean put his hand on Sam's forehead. _He's still feverish, but I think that might be getting better too. _

Dean sighed, put the pan on the floor and sat down beside Sam. _I think he looks better, I hope I'm not just being hopeful. This was too close. Much too close. _ He leaned against the headboard and put his hand on Sam's chest. _His heart rate has slowed down, I hope it doesn't keep slowing down. I think he feels cooler, too. _Dean sat quietly, listening to Sam's even breathing, his brother's heartbeat regular, if a little weak, under his hand. He let his eyes closeand despite his best efforts to stay awake to keep an eye on his brother, the stress of the last two days caught up with him and he fell asleep.

The sun was coming through the window at the end of the bed. The light was warm on Dean's face. _House is a little cold, but the sun feels nice. I thought it was going to snow last night, but maybe not. _He woke up a little more, letting the day coalesce around him, not hurrying awareness. His neck was stiff from sleeping propped up against the headboard, one foot was asleep. His hand was still resting on Sam's chest, the steady beat of his brother's heart comforting, despite the coolness of the room his hand was warm. He moved it a tiny bit and realized Sam's hand was on top of his.

Dean finally opened his eyes, he was still exhausted, heart weary from the last couple of days. The stress had finally and completely caught him, holding him immobile on the bed. _Stress? No, be honest, blind terror. When you thought Sam had been bitten by a werewolf you panicked. Your world ended. When you realized what that meant, that you couldn't save him, or more to the point the only way to save him was…I think that's a little more than stress, brilliant. _His throat suddenly felt tight, he could feel tears pricking at his eyes. He sighed, trying to ease the ache in his chest. A tear escaped, he felt it trickle down his cheek. _Great, just freaking great. _It stung a little as it ran over his neck. _Nice, bad enough I'm crying, but it has to aggravate those cuts it made on my neck. Just great. What next? Uh, hello? Didn't mean that, how about what's next is a couple of days of rest and then we get out of here? That would be nice for a change._

"Dean?" Sam said, his voice sounding a little weak and raspy.

Dean wiped his face dry with his free hand. _Yeah, cause he didn't notice that, not Sam, he'd never notice something like that. Nope. _He looked down at his brother and smiled. "Hey, Sammy, how do you feel?"

"Like hell," he said smiling. "I'm thirsty." He tried to push himself up. Dean tucked some pillows behind his back. "Maybe I won't get up for a minute," Sam said with a little laugh.

"Maybe you won't get up today," Dean said, giving Sam's chest a little pat and getting up. "I'll get you some juice and make some coffee, how's that sound?"

"Sure, thanks," Sam said.

Dean grabbed the pan off the floor and headed into the kitchen. He put the coffee on and carried a glass of orange juice back to his brother. Sam smiled when he came into the room. Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and handed Sam the glass of juice. "Coffee'll be ready in a minute and after a cup or two I thought I might run out and get something for dinner. I think we'll just stay here for a day or two."

"Sounds good to me," Sam said, sipping the orange juice. "Isn't it nearly Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah, it is, maybe I can get one of those turkey dinners already cooked with all the trimmings," Dean said, smiling. _How long has it been since we've had that?_

"Been a long time since we had a dinner like that," Sam said, as if he had read Dean's thoughts.

"Yeah, and maybe a nice pie or two for dessert? Pumpkin, of course and something else? With fresh cream poured over it?" Dean said.

"Sure, Dean, maybe with fresh cream poured over it like at that café in Oregon? Not whipped but just fresh cream? It's Thanksgiving and I just think we need something to celebrate with," Sam was smiling, pleasure lighting his eyes.

"Yeah, we do, Sam," Dean said, looking away for a minute, swallowing down the lump in his throat, blinking back the tears that were suddenly there again. _Not now. We're talking about dinner. No, we're not, we're talking about a lot more than that. And we do, at this moment, have a few things to be thankful for, the most important being that you are still here._

"Dean?" Sam put his hand on Dean's knee.

"Yeah?" he looked over at Sam, his brother's eyes were bright with tears.

"I understand…I mean I know what you had…I wanted to…" Sam stopped, he looked at Dean and took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said simply.

"For dinner, sure, Sammy, I have to eat too," he grinned at his brother, still trying to fight back the tears in his eyes.

Sam smiled, looking at Dean with _that look_, the all-knowing-Sam look, the look that Dean knew saw right through everything, right through every façade, every smart remark and could see right into his heart at times. Dean looked at Sam and for a minute let his guard down, and let his brother see him, without pretense, without any defense, just for a minute, but he let it happen. Dean looked into his brother's eyes and Sam was open, unguarded, too. Words not needed. Just for a moment, but it was enough.

Dean cleared his throat, "Before you expect some huge hug and chick-flick moment I'm going to go get the coffee and then go in search of dinner." He stood up. _Cause a hug is the chick-flick moment, yeah right. _"It's just coffee though, no vanilla lattes here, you'll have to drink real coffee."

Sam wiped the tears off his face. "Jerk," he said, letting Dean know he understood.

"Bitch," Dean said with a smile. He walked into the kitchen, looking out at the bright sunny day. He stood for a minute, smelling the coffee with the sun on his face, letting the fear drain out of him for a moment, letting everything go, future, past, all of it. "Thank you, Sam," he said quietly, the emotion rough in his voice. He poured the coffee, picked up the mugs and walked back towards Sam, his heart at peace for an instant.

The End


End file.
